outside. She quickened her pace. She still had things to take care of at Tiff’s.
The bell over Shane’s door jingled when she went inside his office. Carla Chapman, Shane’s secretary-dispatcher-everything-else jerked her head toward Shane’s cubicle behind her. “He’s waiting for you,” she said.
Great. She loved her brother dearly, but the man had a distinct ability to make her feel as if she were being called down to the principal’s office.
It was warm inside and she unbuttoned her jacket, sliding it from her shoulders as she entered Shane’s cubicle.
Wood was not sitting in either of the two chairs situated in front of Shane’s massive metal desk. She dropped her jacket and purse on the desk and leaned toward him. “You locked him up, didn’t you.” Her voice was accusing.
He pointedly moved her belongings to one side, off his paperwork. “Sit down. You still need to sign the report.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “He’s in a cell,” he allowed after a moment.
“Shane!” She sat down, dismayed more than was wise. “For not having his driver’s license? That’s ridiculous. I’m sure he has one, he just didn’t have it with him.”
“Try bribery, then.”
“Bri—” Her voice choked. “He did not.”
Her brother shrugged. “Guess he had no room in his pocket for the license what with all that cash he was carrying,” Shane said dryly. “And you’ve always been a trusting little soul.”
“Makes me sound like I’m seven instead of twenty-seven.” She took the pen he extended and signed her name at the bottom of the accident report. “You haven’t locked up everyone who forgot their driver’s license at home.”
“Fortunately today she learned to take her purse or wallet with her when she left the house.” He looked sideways at her purse, assuring her that, yes, he was referring to her.
Darn his memory, anyway.
“You’re being unreasonable.”
He sat back and propped one boot heel over his knee. “Our Mr. Tolliver’s got quite the public defender in you.” The toe of his boot tapped the air twice. “Wonder why?”
“Look. If Stu… and you… weren’t so determined to hitch me to Wendell Pierce’s wagon, none of this would have happened. That poor man would have driven right through Lucius on his way to, to wherever, and that would be that. He was just an—
“Innocent bystander,” Shane put in, amused.
“Yes!”
He dropped his foot back to the floor and sat forward, arms on the desk. His amusement faded. “Doesn’t work that way, turnip. Until I know that car’s not stolen, he’s not going anywhere.”
She eyed him, but knew there was no moving Shane when his mind was set. “Dad says that stubbornness is not a blessing.”
“Dad says a lot of things,” Shane agreed mildly.
Frustrated, she snatched up her belongings and turned on her heel.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to see your poor prisoner!” She strode down the tiled hallway. The Lucius Sheriff Office housed a total of five cells and it was a rare day when even one was called into use. Shane was probably just bored and wanted to test the strength of the iron bars or something.
She turned the corner and stopped. Her breath sucked back up into her chest and a squiggle of something unfamiliar dipped in her stomach. Wood was sitting on the cot, his back against the wall, one foot planted on the thin mattress, the other leg—a long leg—extended.
“If you’ve come to break me out, save the effort,” he advised. “With your help I’d probably find myself in a federal penitentiary.”
She chewed the inside of her lip and took a step closer to the cell. From out in the front office, she could hear Carla talking on the phone, her voice bright and cheerful.
Just another day winding down in Lucius.
“I’m sorry.” She hugged her jacket and purse to her midriff. “This is all my fault.”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” she added after a moment, “it’s not my fault that you didn’t have your license on you.” His lips twisted a little at that. He had very nice lips, even if her brother figured he was a car thief. “Are you?”
His eyebrows rose. “Am I what?”
Her cheeks warmed. That was the trouble for thinking half one’s thoughts out loud. Confusion inevitably ensued. “A car thief.”
A glint lit his eyes. His hand, draped over his raised knee, curled a little. Then he shifted and rose off the cot, his movements so smooth and relaxed he might just as well have been rising out of his own bed in his own home.
As if she’d ever seen what a strange man looked like rising out of his own bed? She ran the family’s boardinghouse. Any beds she was involved with were those needing a change of sheets between her rare guests.
She swallowed and stood her ground when he walked up to the bars of the cell and wrapped his hands lightly around them, looking at her through the space between. “Do I look like a car thief to you?”
She lifted her shoulder. “Can’t say I know what a car thief really looks like,” she admitted, speculation aside. “I don’t imagine they are all unattractive with shifty eyes.”
The corner of his lip twisted upward. “High praise,” he murmured.
He almost had a dimple in his cheek. Or more of a slash, she thought, which definitely went with a jaw that was razor sharp. And his nose was a little too long for his face, but the whole package was put together in a decidedly blessed way.
“You’re staring.”
She blinked. Moistened her lips. “Sorry.”
He reached one long arm between the bars and grazed his fingers against her coat. “So am I.”
He had a tiny scar at the corner of his eye. And another one, nearly invisible, bisecting his slashing eyebrow. “For what?” she asked faintly.
He hooked his finger in a fold of pink wool and tugged lightly.
She looked down. Right. The bloodstains on her jacket. More on the edge of her sweater sleeve. “Cleaning these stains will be a lot easier than fixing your car, I’m afraid.”
“So, at least you’ve decided that the Shelby is my car.”
How had he gotten those tiny little scars? Would he have a scar when the cut on his forehead healed? “Is there some reason to doubt it?”
He
